


The Fifth Floor at Midnight

by hopelocklet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco Malfoy, First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Pining Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelocklet/pseuds/hopelocklet
Summary: When Harry is watching the Marauder's Map late at night, he sees Malfoy's name in a part of Hogwarts he doesn't recognize. It's on the fifth floor, the Fine Arts floor. Now Harry is practically desperate to find out what in Merlin's name Malfoy is doing on the fifth floor - alone - at midnight.





	The Fifth Floor at Midnight

Harry tossed and turned restlessly in his bed, desperately trying to think of any tactics that might help him sleep. He could count sheep, but Harry had already tried that. He could listen to music, but the only music Harry had was on his CD player, which wouldn’t work on Hogwarts grounds. He could think of his “happy place” like Hermione suggested, but Harry’s all of Harry’s happy places (a Quidditch match, Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes, the Burrow) were often rambunctious and loud, and not at all relaxing or sleep-inducing. Well… there was one more thing Harry could do to try to fall asleep.

“Lumos,” Harry whispered as he reached for the Marauder’s Map, which he kept in the drawer of his bedside table. Harry was careful to be quiet as he moved, not wanting to wake up his eighth year roommate, Justin Finch-Fletchley.

As soon as the Marauder’s Map was open on Harry’s lap, Harry’s eyes instinctively searched for Draco Malfoy’s name. When Harry didn’t see the bond’s name at first glance, he frowned. There was really no reason for Harry to look for Malfoy on the map. They weren’t sixteen anymore, and Harry had no reason to suspect Malfoy was up to anything. In fact, Malfoy had been civil to him since school started, and in some instances, even kind. Harry only looked for Malfoy’s location because of an old habit from sixth year, or at least that’s what Harry told himself. 

Harry sighed as he examined the map more thoroughly. Hogwarts wasn’t a very exciting place in the dead of the night when there was no Dark Lord, convicted felons, or barmy professors to wander around in the halls. Harry was about to put the map back in the drawer and accept the fact that he was going to have a sleepless night when he noticed a name hovering in a part of the castle Harry didn’t recognize. Harry’s breath caught. The name was Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked closer at the room Malfoy was in and furrowed his brow. It was on the fifth floor, and as far as Harry knew, that was where Muggle Studies, Music, and Art classes were taught. Muggle Studies definitely didn’t seem like Malfoy, so he must have been in a music or art room. But why in the middle of the night?

As it so happened, Harry did indeed get a sleepless night, but only because he was kept up by the thoughts and questions swimming around in his head after seeing Malfoy’s name on the Marauder’s Map. At breakfast, Hermione scolded Harry for not getting the healthy amount of sleep, and Harry nodded along, but  he wasn’t actually paying any attention to Hermione’s words. He was too busy staring at Malfoy from across the Great Hall and thinking up all sorts of reasons for him to be on the fifth floor so late at night. Harry imagined many scenarios, and while they were entertaining, none of them seemed plausible. For example, Harry’s idea of Draco sneaking into the Muggle Music classroom because he had a secret love of playing tuba covers of Celestina Warbeck songs. 

That night, after Justin fell asleep, Harry brought out his map again and found that Malfoy was in the same place he had been the night before. Harry traced the name ‘Draco Malfoy’ with his fingertip and decided that he would find out what Draco was doing there by tomorrow night.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, a bit too loudly, by means of greeting Malfoy in the library the following afternoon. 

Malfoy was sitting by himself at a table that could have fit eight people. He was utterly transfixed by the book he was reading, enthralled enough that Harry was afraid he might have to speak up again to pull Malfoy’s focus away from his book. Luckily, just then a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs burst into laughter at a table nearby, and Malfoy looked up to see what the fuss was about. Malfoy didn’t even bat an eye at the Hufflepuffs once he noticed Harry though. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said, his tone surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, studying.” Harry gestured to his bookbag and smiled nervously. “Mind if I sit here?”

“No,” Malfoy said quickly. He nodded at the seat across from him and offered Harry a nervous smile of his own.

“What’s that you’re reading?” Harry asked casually as he slid into the chair across from the blond. 

“Oh, nothing,” Malfoy said offhandedly.

Harry tried to spy the title of Malfoy’s book, but all he could see was ‘The Intricacies of-’ and Malfoy’s hand blocked the rest.

“Are you okay, Potter?” Malfoy suddenly asked. His eyes roamed over Harry’s face meticulously. “You look exhausted.”

Harry flushed. ‘ _ That’s because I’ve been up all night thinking about you. And by the way, how do you look so good right now? You’re the one who’s been disappearing off to strange parts of the castle in the middle of the night, _ ’ Harry thought. But what he said was, “Yeah, I had to stay up late last night to finish an essay.”

“Of course you did,” Malfoy said. “There are easier ways to get away with procrastinating, you know.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Oh, really?”

Malfoy nodded and Harry raised his eyebrows in return. 

“Sweet talk,” Malfoy explained with a shrug.

“Sorry?”

“Bloody hell, do you really not get it?” Malfoy said. His tone was amused. “You’re Harry fucking Potter, all you have to do is smile real pretty and say you couldn’t get the assignment done because you were busy saving someone’s life and in a second flat you’ll get an extension.”

Harry wasn’t even listening to Malfoy’s final words, he was still stuck on the part about his smile. “You think my smile is pretty?” Harry said smugly.

Malfoy blushed faintly and rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, Potter.”

“Too late,” Harry said with a grin.

The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon in the library together, but even after hours of subtly asking questions that might lead to an explanation of Malfoy’s midnight trips to the fifth floor, Harry was still just as clueless about Malfoy’s nightly activities. So Harry decided that he would just have to catch Malfoy in the act.

It was about a quarter to midnight when Harry left his dorm room and headed towards the Muggle Studies/Music/Art classrooms with his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map.

Once Harry was on the fifth floor, he pulled out the map, cast Lumos, and checked Malfoy’s location again. He was in the room at the end of the hall. Harry tread in that direction, taking extra care to be as silent as possible. ‘Magical Art and Painting’ read the plaque on the door at the end of the hall. Harry inhaled sharply. Malfoy was an artist? Harry tried the doorknob, and upon finding the door to be locked, cast Alohomora. Harry winced as he pushed the door open and the action caused a low, creaking noise. 

Harry was relieved when he stepped inside the room and discovered that, just like in the library, Malfoy was too preoccupied with his task to notice Harry’s presence. The room was lit up with lanterns and Malfoy was standing over an easel with his back to Harry. Intrigued, Harry stepped closer. He had to stand directly behind Malfoy to get a good view of the painting Malfoy was working on, and when he saw what the painting depicted, he gasped.

It was Harry. Malfoy was painting Harry. And he was quite the artist, actually. In the painting, Harry was flying on his broom, and Hogwarts was far in the background. Painting-Harry was very detailed, every angle of his scar adjusted to perfection, the outline of his muscles defined and precise, his eyes the exact shade of green they were in real life, and Malfoy had even taken the time to draw each individual eyelash. The expression on painting-Harry’s face was carefree and happy; Harry was laughing. His arms weren’t on the broom, but were spread wide as if painting-Harry was trying to embrace the wind. Malfoy was currently painting the sky behind Harry with a soft pink color. Harry - the real one - was suddenly filled with a warmth that brought a smile to his face. He wanted to tell Malfoy that he thought the painting was beautiful, and more than that he wanted to ask why Malfoy was painting him in the first place. So, being the Gryffindor that he was, Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and addressed the artist, “Malfoy.”

Malfoy was so startled that he physically jumped. His paintbrush fell out of his hand and dripped pink paint all over his trousers before hitting the ground. When Malfoy turned around and realized who exactly it had been to speak his name, his cheeks and ears turned the same color pink. 

“Potter?” Malfoy said hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, actually.” Harry smiled a little and tried not to find the streak of green paint on Malfoy’s left cheekbone adorable.

Malfoy shook his head in confusion. “That doesn’t- I don’t- Um, why were you looking for me?”

Harry didn’t quite know how to answer this, so he responded with a question of his own. “Why were you painting me?”

“Oh, I, uh, I can explain.” Harry smiled as Malfoy struggled to fight his embarrassment. Malfoy cleared his throat and said in the most formal tone he could manage, “This painting is a gift for you. In return for your testimony at my mother and I’s trials.”

Harry’s smile drooped a little. “I don’t expect anything in return for doing that. I testified for you and your mother because I don’t think either of you deserve to go to Azkaban.”

Malfoy raised his chin defiantly. “Well then it’s in return for you saving my life.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You saved my life first,” he pointed out.

Malfoy frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t say I- All I did was- It’s not as if-”

Harry chuckled as Malfoy stumbled over his words. “It’s okay, Malfoy. You can just admit that you painted me because you wanted to.”

Malfoy closed his mouth abruptly and stared at the floor. “It’s just a painting, Potter. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” Harry quipped. He stepped closer to Malfoy so that the two of them were mere centimeters apart. Malfoy’s head snapped up when he realized how close Harry was, and his grey eyes widened when they met Harry’s green ones. 

“Do you like it?” Malfoy asked, his voice quiet. “The painting?”

Harry nodded, his gaze intense and his expression sincere. “I don’t know how I could ever show you how much I appreciate it.”

“I can think of a few ideas,” Malfoy said. His eyes dropped to Harry’s lips.

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, and he kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> based on this prompt I got on my Tumblr: hi i dont know if this will work but can you do a fic where harry is looking on the maurauders map and sees draco in a place in the castle he has never been before so when draco leaves he goes to check it out and finds that draco is painting portraits of harry? - https://harrypotterandtheintrovertedteen.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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